


Aftermath

by terraplan



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Incest, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terraplan/pseuds/terraplan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This must be what happiness felt like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Returned](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2911) by dmnutv_archer. 



> This is a fanfic for another fanfic, "Returned", by the amazing dmnutv_archer.

The warmth felt good. The later afternoon sun was peeking through the windows, spraying the floor with the wonderful outlines of buildings, birds, floating leaves. But the warmth he felt had nothing to do with the sun. It came from his brother, chest flush against his back. He’d recently found that sitting between his legs and reclining against him eased the pain on his back. The surgeon had said the burnt flesh was now fully healed but he knew nothing. There was pain, he felt it with absolute certainty. It might not be of a physical nature – he was never sure what was, these days – but it was there, a slow burn that never disappeared.

“Better?” Malik asked, his hand caressing his arm over the loose shirt he was wearing. It belonged to Malik, the shirt with crisscrossing strings on the front that he never took off. He’d come a long way dealing with his past. His wounds had healed, eventually. His mind did not compare to what it had been a few months ago. But the cross on his back…

He tipped his head back, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder. “It helps,” he said, sighing, relaxing into Malik’s chest. His head rolled to the side, eyes drawn to the far corner of the room, where Altaïr usually slept. He was resting there, half-slumped against a pile of cushions. He’d returned only a few hours ago from running errands and hadn’t moved since then. Kadar couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, the hood concealing his eyes in shadow.

“How can he stand my presence?” Kadar wondered aloud, eyes darkening with profound sadness. He could barely stand himself. “I’m soiled. He could have anyone he wanted…”

“He has exactly who he wants,” Malik said, hand resting on his chest, right below his heart. “We both do.”

But Kadar only shook his head, uncomprehending. He was soiled, damaged, only half a man. He would never jump across the city’s roofs with his chin up, like Altaïr, or be respected among his peers, like Malik. He was just a liability, a burden they had chosen to carry for whatever reason.

A dull pain compressed his chest, feelings of shame and rejection invading his heart, and he recoiled into himself, his mind immediately escaping into a familiar world of nothingness. It was a sterile place, void of any life and any pain, and it always brought him respite. He was starting to drift in it when reality snapped back into place, driven by warm hands touching his sides. Malik was pressing his lips to his hair and amber eyes were fixed on his own, the sun hitting them directly, giving them an oneiric quality. He took a deep breath, blinking several times.

“Altaïr,” he muttered, somewhere between surprised and unbelieving.

“Yes, I’m really here,” he said with a smile, before Kadar could even suggest otherwise, “and I’d rather be nowhere else.” Eyes still locked on his, he undid the lace on the bottom of his shirt and pulled the strings from the last three rows of eyelets, exposing his navel. Both his hands slipped underneath the fabric, touching his ribs and his back slowly, reverently. Then he bent, lips touching his marred skin with such an affection and dedication that he couldn’t help but question his sanity again. This is what he had dreamt of doing to Altaïr, not something that Altaïr would ever do to him. He was just projecting his most intimate fantasies; it couldn’t be anything more than that.

He moaned quietly, nonetheless, reality or not his touch felt like heaven. Distant sirens of warning started sounding in the back of his head but he made an effort to ignore them in in favor of watching Altaïr’s lips moving across his stomach and traveling higher up, fingers first, pulling on the strings until his entire chest was exposed.

A shiver of discomfort snaked up his spine. He felt vulnerable like this. He never took his shirt off, never. It was a disgraceful sight that he preferred to spare those around him, and himself. But Altaïr just kept going, lips like feathers across his skin, hands steady on his sides, thumbs drawing small semicircles from time to time. He focused on the pleasurable sensations and told himself to relax.

Malik’s breath was less rushed than his own, but not much, he realized. His lips also touched his skin, first on the nape of his neck, and then continuing along his right shoulder, where he had pulled the shirt to the side so cautiously he hadn’t even noticed until his lips were there. Lips and just a hint of tongue, he noted; and he sighed deeply, contentedly, feeling relaxed and aroused, wishing for this dream to never end.

Altaïr gave his collarbone one last kiss and then restarted his way down, slow but surely. Kadar knew where he was headed and longed for it, but the sirens in the back of his head were getting louder, persistently; and by the time Altaïr kissed his hip bone, they were a deafening, blinding scream exploding behind his eyes.

“Stop!” he demanded, incapable of holding back the building panic, heart pounding against his ribcage like thunder. Altaïr halted immediately, sitting back on his shins with both hands up, his eyes fixed on his own now showing a strange mixture of arousal and concern. He sagged against Malik, still solid on his back like a rock.

“I can’t…” he started, hands fisting on his brother’s robe as if for dear life.

Hand stroking his arm as if calming a scared deer, Malik interrupted him, just a whisper against his neck. “It’s alright. Don’t worry. He won’t do anything that you don’t want him to. None of us will. You’re the one who decides what happens. You’re in control.”

He took a deep breath, then another, again struggling to focus on his brother’s soothing touch. It was okay. There was nothing to fear. Nothing bad was going to happen. He was safe. Safe.

“You’re in control, Kadar,” Malik whispered again, just behind his earlobe, so quietly it felt like he was speaking inside his head. “See for yourself. Why don’t you ask him to do something? Something that will make you feel good.”

“Yes,” he answered, his mind still whirling, trying to redirect its efforts towards something positive. Feel good, something that would make him feel good. He raised his head again, looking Altaïr in the eyes. “Undress,” he asked softly, half expecting the assassin to burst out laughing in his face.

But he did no such thing. He simply nodded and started removing his clothes, piece by piece, until he was again kneeling between his legs, completely naked. If Kadar ever thought this could be a dream, he was now sure of it. Altaïr was still as breathtaking as he remembered, all pale skin and lean muscle. The last time the three of them had been together like this – when had that been? A few days ago, a few weeks? – it had been dark and all of them had been clothed. Despite everything, the sight sent a bolt of excitement through his system.

“Would you be okay taking your breeches off?” Altaïr asked, touching his calf with the tip of his fingers.

His breeches. He was okay with that, he had nothing to be ashamed of there. His erection was obvious through the fabric and there was no point in trying to conceal it. He nodded and helped Altaïr pull them off, raising his hips and feet when necessary. Altaïr’s eyes were drawn to his cock but he made no move to touch him again.

“See how hard he his, just looking at you?” Malik whispered, seemingly inside his skull. “He wants to touch you. Badly.” Then his lips returned to his shoulder, his tongue just a barely there touch to his heated skin. His hand was on his chest, stroking small, calming circles. But Kadar’s gaze was intent on the man in front of him. He saw a flash of jealousy cross Altaïr’s expression, his hands closing into fists on his thighs, like he was having a hard time keeping himself in check. His cock twitched, taking pleasure in causing such a powerful emotion in the otherwise reserved assassin.

He reached for Altaïr at last, setting aside the debate of whether or not he was real. It didn’t matter much anyway. He touched his arm and pulled, nodding his consent. Altaïr went straight for his mouth, one hand cupping his face, the other settling on his hip, as if resuming its original path. Kadar opened his mouth and melted at the eagerness of Altaïr’s kiss, tongue stroking back, exploring, reveling in the intensity of it. Malik moaned softly somewhere near his shoulder and shifted in his place, his own erection now pressing against the small of his back.

It was Altaïr that first broke the kiss, forehead touching his while they both caught their breaths. He took hold of one of his hands and guided it to his hair. Kadar buried his fingers in the light brown hair, he liked how it contrasted with his skin tone.

“I want you to keep your hand there,” Altaïr said, kissing the corner of his mouth, “and stop me whenever you start to feel uncomfortable. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, fingers closing around a handful of hair. It was barely long enough to hold on to.

The hand on his hip moved inwards, first just caressing the skin between his groin and his leg and then moving on to his length. He pressed his palm flat on it, rubbing it between his hand and his belly for a moment. Then he wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it gently and pulling a groan from Kadar, hand flexing in his hair at the heady sensation. Altaïr paused only briefly, monitoring his face one last time before touching his lips to the head of his cock and licking just the tip.

A small whine of want escaped his throat, hips thrusting up for more, and Malik hummed his approval, his caress no longer calming but teasing, moving over his nipples as if by chance, but not. He felt Malik shifting his attention to his other shoulder, lips and the occasional touch of tongue driving his shirt down his shoulders, sleeves pooling at his elbows.

His back. Naked. His eyes widened.

“N-no... ah,” he panted, Malik’s tongue licking the edge of the cross right between his shoulders as Altaïr descended on his length, tongue curling around the head in lazy strokes. Contradicting feelings clashed inside him, right and wrong swirling together into something extreme that made him gasp for air, fingers clutching at light hair and dark robes.

Malik went lower, tongue touching the edges of the scar where undamaged nerve endings sent confusing pulses of pleasure to coil in his groin. His back arched, either away from or into the touch, he couldn’t tell. He ended up half bent over Altaïr’s head, trapped between his brother’s warm tongue and Altaïr’s gifted lips. His body tensed, consumed with overwhelming sensation, and he found himself yearning for both as his muscles quivered with the telltale signs of impending climax.

He jerked up his hips, ready to let go, needing release so badly, but he couldn’t, something didn’t let him. He sobbed, frantic for completion, both hands fisting in Malik’s robes as his legs squeezed Altaïr’s torso against him. He was so close.

“Altaïr,” he heard Malik’s voice rumble somewhere behind him. Altaïr raised his head and they exchanged looks, communicating without words as they often did. Then Malik pulled him back, the damnable cross vanishing from sight, his back flush against Malik’s chest. Malik’s hand replaced Altaïr’s mouth and the assassin draped himself over Kadar, mouth covering his in a rough kiss, one hand joining Malik’s somewhere between their bodies. He wound both arms around Altaïr’s neck, hands clutching at his own sleeves. Shuddering, he allowed a pleading whine of need to escape his throat.

“Breathe Kadar,” Malik murmured, nuzzling his neck as Altaïr ravished his mouth, both their hands barely able to move between Altaïr and himself. He sobbed again, he was ready, more than ready; he was despairing.

“Kadar, it’s okay. Let go,” Altaïr whispered in his ear, hand cupping his sack as Malik’s hand quickened over his length. And without any warning, it hit him like a sandstorm, the exhilaration he thought forever lost, the blinding bliss that he never thought possible in the realm of the living. He didn’t make a sound but the thud of his heart in his chest was loud enough to muffle a thousand horses. He drifted in the waves of pleasure, enjoying the glorious feeling. This must be what happiness felt like.

When he opened his eyes again he was lying on the cushions, Malik to his left, Altaïr to his right, both watching him closely. And they were both still hard.

“You gave me so much and I gave you nothing,” he lamented, even though his eyes were threatening to close at any moment. He was completely drained.

Malik kissed his forehead gently. “Sleep, Kadar. Don’t worry with such things.”

He closed his eyes, sighing at the feel of Malik’s hand on his hair and Altaïr’s fingers caressing his arm. And in that limbo between sleep and full awareness, there were voices. Malik saying something unintelligible. And Altaïr replying, “Yes, I heard you whisper things in his ear. Now, _you_ undress.” 

He fell asleep with a smile.


End file.
